


not so starcrossed

by estel_willow



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex is a BAMF, Future Fic, M/M, Michael is a Little Shit, Terrible poetry, abuse of purple prose, antar ii, blame beamirang for this, everyone's afraid of her, isobel is technically queen, king!max, shameless references to other things, silly space shenannigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-05-02 03:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow/pseuds/estel_willow
Summary: If you’d asked Alex Manes what he thought he’d be doing sixteen years after he’d graduated high school, standing on an alien planet with an army at his back waiting for him to tell them how to defeat acid-spitting monster rodents would not have been even close to his top 100. Honestly, this whole situation could have been avoided if Michael hadn’t opened his big, dumb mouth. This whole situation could have been avoided if Michael had talked aboutactualfights Alex had won in an effort to explain - not that he needed to - why Alex wasn’t intimidated by Isobel when half the court glanced away when she breezed into the council meetings.But here he was, standing in what passed for a field on Antar II (because apparently, Max’s people weren’t all that inventive when it came to naming planets they were settling on), eyes tracking rodents of unusual size as they scurried through the bright purple grass.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beamirang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamirang/gifts).



> Blame [beamirang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamirang/pseuds/beamirang/works?fandom_id=29002712) for this. I take no responsibility for this nonsense.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

If you’d asked Alex Manes what he thought he’d be doing sixteen years after he’d graduated high school, standing on an alien planet with an army at his back waiting for him to tell them how to defeat acid-spitting monster rodents would not have been even close to his top 100. Honestly, this whole situation could have been avoided if Michael hadn’t opened his big, dumb mouth. This whole situation could have been avoided if Michael had talked about _actual_ fights Alex had won in an effort to explain - not that he needed to - why Alex wasn’t intimidated by Isobel when half the court glanced away when she breezed into the council meetings. 

But here he was, standing in what passed for a field on Antar II (because apparently, Max’s people weren’t all that inventive when it came to naming planets they were settling on), eyes tracking rodents of unusual size as they scurried through the bright purple grass. 

“Were they like this on Terra?” One of the lieutenants asks from over Alex’s shoulder, fingers tight around his weapon. They’d learned the hard way that it wasn’t just acidic spit that the ROUS’ had in their arsenal. Injury to anywhere except their left eye (and what kind of intergalactic evolutionary nonsense was that specific) resulted in their bodies building up some kind of gaseous reflex that made them explode messily and dangerously. The sharpshooters in the Antarian army were woefully undertrained and Alex had made a mental note to kick Michael in the shin for that, too, since this was all his fault in the first place. 

“No,” he manages through gritted teeth. He glanced over his shoulder at Michael, eyes narrowed in a glare that would turn lesser men to stone and despite the worry written across his features, Alex swears he hears the muffled snort of laughter. “They weren’t.”

It had started - as most of these things do - with a woman. 

Well, officially it started a long time before this particular incident but for argument’s sake, it started with a woman. Isobel Evans, to be precise (since she refused to allow anyone to call her Vilandra). She’s always been a force to be reckoned with on her worst days but when it became apparent that Max was some kind of Lord and Saviour King, Isobel and Michael were the first to accompany him to try and make sure that he didn’t kill himself - or get killed. The ambassador that had come for them had offered to take some humans along for the ride - because after all, they had grown up together and perhaps it would make the transition to a new planet easier? - and though Liz had declined (much to Max’s dismay, she had so much catching up to do with Rosa and couldn’t leave her with Arturo until she was confident they wouldn’t murder each other and had promised she would come as soon as he could send someone back for her), Alex had leapt at the opportunity to go into space. 

Three years on he’s regretting it bitterly. 

Isobel had immediately cowed the council. They’d seen that Max was young (ish, he kept trying to point out unsuccessfully) and had instantly decided to try and rule for him, letting him be the figurehead but little else and though Max was quite happy with that, Isobel was not, especially when she got wind of some of their more… archaic traditions and decided that she would absolutely not live like that. It took her five minutes, a stony glare and some incredibly specific - and creative - threats. After that, no one would look her in the eye. Those that did only held her gaze briefly and Alex was pretty sure that the three holidays that had suddenly appeared in Vilandra’s name were less coincidental than the Leader of Ceremonies liked to pretend they were.

Three days later, Alex had stormed into the council chamber, furious that he’d been assigned a _guard_ and refusing to be silenced when Isobel looked at him with - what the council referred to in hushed whispers - The Eyebrow. He had lifted his chin, stared her down and then turned his gaze to Michael who, predictably, had crumpled like a house of cards and waved his hand saying something about it being dangerous. Alex had simply said that the guards weren’t needed and he could take care of himself, as they all well knew and Isobel _smiled_. Alex left without a hair on his head harmed and his guard attache dismantled. 

Naturally, the human who had stood up to Isobel was immediately the subject of intense curiosity. Rumours started spreading quickly about the great battles he must have seen, the beings he must have faced down in single combat. Alex’s past as a warrior had to have been legendary if he barely batted an eyelash at someone who could warp and crush his fragile, tiny, underdeveloped human brain. Michael did nothing but fan the flames, grin broader than a Cheshire Cat as he regaled them with _that one time Alex wrestled an Alligator_ and described a dragon and _that one time Alex banished the giant that had hurt Michael when they were younger_ which was only embellished in that ninety percent of it was a fabrication. 

It was the day that Alex was announced as he arrived at an event with _slayer of the Fearsome Hamster_ tacked onto the traditional _Lord Alexander of Terra_ that finally he turned to Michael and gave him a look that, in no uncertain terms screamed **what the actual fuck**. Michael had just nudged him in the side with a grin that was infuriating as much as it made Alex want to shove him into a closet and ravish him and said _don’t worry, I told them that they spit acid and were, like, eight hundred pounds_.

He’d been surrounded by people wanting to hear the story and had spent half the night politely turning down requests for stories (which seemed to just make him become Alex the Modest, in the minds of many) and the other half fending off would-be suitors. That, at least, had amused him as he’d watched Michael’s expression darken more and more over the course of the evening until he was whisked away and shoved up against a wall as Michael - General of the Armies of Antar (all three-hundred-and-a-handful strong) - staked his claim on Alex, slayer of Alligators, Giants and Hamsters[[1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191334#note1)].

But, ultimately, that was how they’d ended up here: Alex standing in what passed for a field, tracking ROUS as they scurried through the bright purple grass.

Alex takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, trying to understand what tactics they could use in order to stop the creatures from reaching the edge of the citadel. Antar II is lovely planet, if you ignore all the parts of it that exist purely to murder the unsuspecting. There’s a huge crunching sound, followed by an explosion, followed by what sounds like a very large balloon deflating and Alex sends up a silent prayer in memory of the giant, multi-fanged Obscurus[[2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191334#note2)] that’s just bravely - and entirely unintentionally - sacrificed itself wiping out half a dozen ROUS’. Alex can see a faint puff of smoke rising from the other side of the plain. 

“What do we do?”

He can hear the rumbling from behind him, questions rising from the ranks as to what they were doing and why they were standing still when really they should be firing, or… something. Someone in the back evidently has a nervous trigger finger because a shot rings out, a green-blue bolt rushing past Alex’s head with a _pew_. Alex, to his credit, only flinches internally. He’s too busy being pissed at Michael for putting him in this stupid position in the first place and how the fuck they were going to get out of it to worry about something as little as a gun - blaster? - shot past the head[[3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191334#note3)].

He turn on the spot and lays out the game plan; the telekinetics - lead by Michael (because this clusterfuck is his fault so he can do the heavy lifting) - would create a series of walls that would pull all of the ROUS into the same area, like sheepdog herding very large, very angry sheep into a pen. The remaining artillery would then do a ten-second burst of concentrated fire into the funnel. The telekinetics would then create a bubble around the ROUS which would contain the explosion, effectively wiping out the herd with their own defence mechanism.

To Alex’s amazement, half an hour later with the sun setting, the rampaging herd of ROUS that had laid waste to at least six villages were in literal steaming chunks, fizzling into the ground. Michael just grinned at him, wide and bright and exhausted (with a trickle of blood under his nose which was wiped hastily away by Alex’s thumb seconds before he was yanked into the kind of kiss made for fantasy movies), relief stark across his face. 

“I knew you could do it,” he breathed against Alex’s lips when the kiss ended. 

Alex just whacked his upper arm, _hard_ and headed through the cheering soldiers to go take a shower. And possibly draw up a new training regimen for Michael’s army. Including an entire section on sharpshooting.

Just in case.

* * *

Things on Antar II settle relatively well; though Max is King, everyone knows Isobel’s really the one that’s in charge (and everyone’s totally okay with that, thank you very much) which comes with an overhaul of the palace interior, exterior _and_ ceremonial dress, and though Michael is the General the entire army answers to Alex as his second-but-equal-in-command.

Liz becomes the official liaison between the Antarians and humanity (after seventy-two failed attempts at sending _actual_ ambassadors and Max refusing to talk to them petulantly, despite Isobel’s best attempts at making him _see reason, Max, Liz is a scientist, not an ambassador_ ). Max is delighted, of course, and immediately starts planning an elaborate event to ask her to marry him since they’d spent too long dancing around each other and all good science fiction movies have their species uniting through marriage, right? (Right? Being an alien, Max had never actually had that much of a vested interest in science-fiction, since aliens were generally always portrayed badly, so he does accept that he could be getting his tropes crossed). Michael, not to be outdone, proposes to Alex in the middle of breakfast.

“Marry me,” he says, blurting the words out over a warm cup of something-that-tastes-like-coffee. 

Alex blinks slowly, looking up from the report he’s reading about nearby planetary activity. Somewhere behind them, someone drops the tray they’re holding and the food doesn’t hit the floor largely because of their ability. His eyebrow’s raised - something he and Isobel have in common, the ability to arch a single, _perfect_ eyebrow and achieve whatever their desired goal of the moment was - and Michael feels the nerves knot in his stomach. 

“Marry me,” he repeats, a little less blurted but no less surprising to everyone. Max, sat at the head of the table, glowers at Michael stealing his thunder. “Please?”

It’s the little grin that does it. It’s somewhere between hopeful and worried, that seemingly ever-present thread of fear in Michael that one day Alex’ll wake up and realise that he’s too good for some stupid alien General and leave. Alex snorts, puts the report down and picks up his napkin, throwing it across the table with unnerving accuracy. It hits Michael right in the face.

He chuckles and picks up his own cup, taking a sip.

“Is that a yes?” Michael asks, voice cracking a little.

Alex rolls his eyes and picks up his report again and, without missing a beat, says, “It's a 'you better get me a nice ring', Guerin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 This rather public claim didn’t actually stop Alex from receiving the odd token of affection from a suitor though after Michael returned a gift of flowers by telekinetically sticking them into the orifices of the giver’s face - not enough to hurt but definitely to be Uncomfortable and Humiliating - they started arriving anonymously. Three-quarters of them were from Michael and Alex knows that, but still hasn’t quite let on.[return to text]
> 
> 2 Obscurui, as Liz had named them the second time she’d come to Antar II, is a type of giant ground-dwelling creature that had more in common with a Saarlac than anything else but since no one else had thought to name them before, Liz went for something that sounded intelligent and was relatively fresh in her mind having just watched Fantastic Beasts with Rosa a few days prior. It wasn’t until she got back to Earth that she’d realised the grievous naming error but by that point, it was too late. They live underground and have great gaping mouths that are often overgrown with moss. When prey gets close enough they dart forward, heaving their huge bodies out of the ground and snatching it up before retreating into the hole. Excavators have to be very careful when digging tunnels because though they look like stone, they most definitely are not.[return to text]
> 
> 3 Of course, Alex’s lack of reaction did nothing but fan the flames of his rapidly growing fanbase who spoke at length - and wrote thirteen and a quarter poems - about his unflappable nature under pressure. The fourteenth poem was never finished because Alex visited the poet to ask him kindly to stop, as Michael had started to recite the more flowery, dramatic sections at the most inopportune moments. Despite his many, _many_ attempts, Michael has never successfully convinced the poet to finish. He did, however, commission a small book of poems for Max to give to Liz when she next visited and sat, howling with laughter, as she read them.[return to text]


	2. The Collected Works of the Poet Baxu (aka We Love Alex)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baxu is a terrible poet. He would argue that a lot of the lyricism is lost in translation between Antaran and the human tongue. They're just... terrible.
> 
> (Thirteen and a half poems, compiled by Antar's Worst Poet, dedicated to Alex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terrible poetry is terrible, purposeful nonsense from Antar's Worst Poet. His writings would make the Vogon jealous. 
> 
> Blame [beamirang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamirang/pseuds/beamirang/works?fandom_id=29002712), again, for encouraging this.

 

 

The Collected Works of the Poet Baxu

  
_Translated from native Antarian by the Poet Baxu_  
Dedicated to Lord Alexander the Beast Slayer

 

* * *

  **i.**  
Betwixt pillars of shining stone and drape-r  
Doth stand the bright human, Alexander  
He travelled ‘cross time, space and land-er  
To appear in all of his grandeur

His eyes are dark like the eclipsed suns  
At his arched brow evil runs  
To hide in the shadows of the darkest of night  
For Alexander the Great gives all monsters a fright

On Terra he slew a large man of bone  
For taking away the General’s home  
On Terra he fought with a beast made of scale  
By tossing it asunder using its tail

Blessed are we that he lives among us  
That he shares our air with no fuss  
Alexander taught me how to cuss  
Fuck shit crap

* * *

  **ii.**  
His hair is soft  
His skin is fair  
His face is smooth  
Except for his facial hair

His smile brightens the dark  
His lips curve up in a perfect arc  
Upon his body there is no mark  
Oh. Wait. There is.  
Upon his body there are some scar-cs  
But he is still ~~easy on the eye~~ beholden with glory

His body bears the map of his life story  
His voice is liquid nectar and more-y  
He will tell you of his home if you sit and ask him please  
He will let you sit beside him but do not touch his knees  
One of them is made of metal  
The leg beneath is too  
So now I often wonder  
Does he buy one shoe or two?

* * *

  **iii. (Ode to Alexander in Those Clothes)**

Dressed in Antar’s finest silks  
Cometh the beast slayer Alexander  
Cleaned in purest bathing milks  
His shape you cannot slander

Though he has no curves (As he is not a she)  
Nor breasts to sing about  
Alexander has features of his own  
That offer visual clout

It was said on Terra  
In places now destroyed  
(As people spoke to the General in error)  
That men were overjoyed  
To see Alexander in fabric of blue  
With an ass you could bounce a quarter off.

His face is finer than a sunrise  
His shoulders slope like a hill  
To hear his laugh is to win a prize  
To be near him is quite a thrill

But try as we may  
To make his attention stray  
His gaze is but fixed on his lover  
The General, and for him there’s no other

So pine gentle folk

 

Scrawled on the original copy of the  
text in Michael’s handwriting:  
_There once was a poet named Baxu  
Who kept staring at the General’s boyfriend  
a_ _nd got fired into space.  
I’m not a poet. More hero stuff._

* * *

**iv.**  
Yea! Hark for Alexander the Great  
Lover of Michael, reverser of fate!  
Peace he now brings as our chaos doth end  
And relations with Pinrathous have started to mend

The talks were tricky  
We thought they would fight  
Some moments were sticky  
But long into the night  
Did Alexander speak softly with a low crooning tone  
Telling them all of his tales of home  
Of Terra and wars that nobody won  
How peace talks ‘tween our people had hardly begun

So away went their blasters and down went their shields  
And in came crops and fruit from their fields  
And now we have anrachias, sweet as the sun  
All thanks to Alexander, him and no one (else)

Except the General, who was brave and true  
And stood beside Alexander as he said he would do  
He threw no insults nor tossed men with his brain  
And now that it’s over we may let him diplome again.

* * *

 

 **v.**  
Today I saw perfection I thought I’d never see  
Alexander was swimming right in front of me  
I had thought to talk a walk along the sea shore  
To gather my thoughts and then think on them some more  
When I spotted Lord Alex in water submerged  
I called out his name but I was not heard-ged

He turned and his profile assaulted my sights  
(Something I shall think on over many late nights)  
And on his back ‘neath scars and the maps of his life  
‘Neath lacings of skin sharp as a knife  
Lay three tiny markings, brown and round  
Such curious markings are never found  
On Antarians if you count Vilandra not  
For she has one on her face  
Alex’s are ~~better~~ different but not better  
I marked them down in the shape of a letter  
The letter is A, for that begins his name  
I wonder, are all humans subtly marked the same?

* * *

 

 **vi.**  
Lord Alexander stood tall facing our foes  
As the scurried and hurried and wiggled their nose(s)  
His mind was whirring, his thoughts were a blur  
When suddenly! The strategy did to him occur  
To crunch them up close and squish them in tight  
He squared his broad shoulders, stood firm for the fight  
That was coming their way scurrying fast  
When a lone shot rung out and shot its way past  
Alexander’s head but he did not flinch  
He did not blink or move an inch  
His mind was elsewhere, thinking of plans  
Of how to protect and secure these great lan(d)s.

In the face of destruction he stood very tall  
Secure in the knowledge that he would not fall  
Fell beasts such as these before he has slain  
It would not be hard to slay them again  
A plan was created and it was grand  
With his General by his side he did stand  
And tell the armies to face their foe  
(And if a human can do it, they could give it a go)

He stood side by side as they felled these great beasts  
And afterwards they sat through many great feasts  
Though often he vanished along with his man  
And smiled at the General like only he can  
Together they lead our army’s great might  
Our planet next door should roll over in fright!

(Otherwise we will send Alexander the Great  
Which, honestly, would be a fate  
Worse than death)

* * *

 

**vii. (An Ode to Humans - but mostly to Alex)**

Their planet is small, it’s violent and tiny  
Their ambassadors are wrinkled and their voices are whiney  
They wring their hands and stand in anxiety  
To us - their betters - they show little piety  
Their superiority complexes are legendary  
(But once a year they make drinks of black cherry  
And whipped cream which are quite a delight)  
Their hubris is funny when compared to their might  
Or lack thereof

But humanity has given us the greatest of gifts  
Alexander the brave, oh how his smile lifts  
Even the darkest of spirits and the blackest of days  
His voice is like butter and smooths through the ear  
And many line up for but a small chance to hear  
The ring of his laugh as it beams through the sky  
Watching him happy brings a tear to my eye

He’s bright and he’s brave and he hung the moons in the dark  
Heads would roll if upon him was left a mark  
(Not by the General, I hasten to add  
Who if someone else touched Alex would be very mad)  
A treasure of ours has he become  
If he returned to earth we would be glum  
In marriage he’ll stay for the rest of his days  
The King and the Queen have helped pave the way(s)  
For a true alliance ‘tween our people and theirs  
And Alex (and Liz if we want to split hairs)  
And sharp-cheekbon’d Kyle, with his razor bright wit  
Making comments and remarks that make Alex spit  
His drink in surprise and outrage and joy  
I hear they have been friends since they were each a boy  
Though the General doth glare  
He’s loved by the rest  
And second to Alex, I think Kyle is the best.

Upon second thought humans might be okay  
Provided we’re cautious and don’t let them stray  
Outside of the careful boundaries we’ve built  
Their castle of pride rests on foundations of silt  
And Antar, the wave, could crash them away  
We refrain because Alex we would like to stay.

* * *

  **viii.**  
There’s a soft kind of quiet that crosses the dark  
When the world is asleep and no one can see  
If you listen close you can hear the soft touch  
The whisper of people whose love is too much  
The truth of two men who cannot even breathe  
When their bodies aren’t twined, when they’re lacking the Mark  
The glow of a hand pressed skin onto skin  
The sharing of a soul and the secrets within  
The linking of minds and hearts into one  
The supplication of bodies to what has begun

For the world will not turn should one turn to ash  
Cities would fall and airships would crash  
The galaxy would perish in flames and in pain  
Until the fates brought these two together again.

* * *

 

 **viiii (draft).**  
~~The skies will bend for a glance from your eyes  
I would kill a man to be between your thighs~~

_Michael will kill you if you publish this, B. Don’t do it  
\- Kyle_

**viii.**  
Valenti and Manes are two men to behold  
Though their hair is quite dark their souls are pure gold  
They’re clever and funny and really quite bright  
With them you can converse long into the night

Of Trek and of Wars they cannot compromise  
But they talk of these ‘movies’ with stars in their eyes  
Their joy is aflame and their hearts are alight  
And later their words are less choice and polite

Kyle tells tales of a place called Roswell  
While Alex sips beer and calls it ‘Ros-Hell’  
They both talk of Lizbeth and the psychic Mari ~~a~~ e  
Who runs a bar - which is not a brewery  
With ponies of wild and drinks that are strong  
And a stage where sometimes Alex would break into song

Well break is a word too strong to describe  
The nightingale notes Alex shares with that dive  
A place that is lovely, I have no doubt  
But Kyle said Maria often turfed Michael out  
“Onto his ass, outside on the floor”  
For flirting and fighting she would not endure

Our General was strong even ‘fore he returned  
And though the respect of his army was very hard earned  
Having Alex at his side has helped a great deal  
For the beast slayer of legend can just make a meal  
Out of all of our enemies who dare cross our path  
(But in full armoured regalia, Alex still does laugh  
At the General who scowls and grumbles his way  
Through ceremonies and sweats in the heat of the day  
In his fine shiny armour  
While Alex resides  
In silver and green  
Such a sight for sore eyes)

Roswell sounds fine for a Terran to be  
But Antar II is greater as I’m sure you can see  
For we have six moons and more than one sun  
Our rulers are just and we have two instead of one  
Our Lady is sharp where our King he is not  
His darkness edged backwards but never forgot  
Our General is witty and cares a great deal  
But it is our Alex, you’ll see, your heart he will steal.

Can Terra compete with our shining display?  
No, is the answer, to Terran dismay.  
Antar is the greatest, the mightiest might  
And anyone who disagrees Alexander will fight.

* * *

**ix. On the Delegation of Klath**  
Klath are dictators of the worst kind  
More brutal people you never will find  
(Except for a Trump, Alex replies  
With a dark, scary shadow lurking in his eyes)

They decided that war was Not An Idea  
Isobel and Alex did quite bend their ear  
With his military might and her razor sharp brain  
Klath left to never return again

They withdrew from our orbit  
Out into the dark  
Good riddance, King Max said  
Mind bright with the spark  
Of successful defending of his house and home  
(Then dropped his wreath of bright, shining chrome).

* * *

 

 **x.**  
How lucky we are that on our ground doth walk  
Such an incredible beauty  
His voice is perfection in both song and in talk  
When he walks the flowers bloom to be near  
His mind is so sharp, his intelligence vast  
When he smiles the crowds erupt in a cheer

The General watches with eyes like the moon  
Together they make quite a beautiful tune  
They play in the quiet so nobody knows  
The passion with which they lose themselves in the throes  
Of the lute and the lyre, the human guitar  
But the most beautiful music by far  
Is the laugh that erupts when something is funny

How lucky we are that on our ground doth walk  
Someone so ineffably bold  
His life story would make a stronger man balk  
To his honour and bravery none can compare  
Of trials and tribulations he has had his fair share

Rising like a bird that is born in the fire  
Alexander deserves none of your ire  
For being born human he is not to blame  
On his planet you would not be treated the same  
They welcome space strangers with arms open wide  
They take you to buildings and house you inside  
They clothe you and feed you and make sure you’re well  
And then they send you - where? - oh, to hell.

Alex’s people are evil it’s true  
But Alex the Great isn’t like them, I knew  
From the very first moment my heart saw his eyes  
And the General will tell you in miserable lies  
That they have never hurt or spurned their love  
And though he is a terrible liar (confirmed by our King followed by a hard shove)  
Their cosmic connection spans space and time  
I just wish “Alexander” was easier to rhyme.

* * *

 

 **xi.**  
When the sun rose this morning it was just as we feared  
Alexander the Great, the truly revered  
Had a sniffle, a cough, some kind of great ailment  
An illness afflicting humanity’s frail(ment)  
Bodies and systems but yea he refused  
To be coddled or fussed with and he did not want to use  
The rem’dies we found buried deep in the grass  
‘I’m not eating that, it smells like ass’

The General despaired in his most caring way  
‘You’ll swallow this shit and then you will lay  
Down and rest, it’s just your luck’  
To which Alex replied,  
‘You’re a curly haired fuck’.

Sullen and sickly his temper did not wane  
And ten days later our Alexander was Alex again.

(Lizbeth the Wise caught the sickness too  
She said that on Terra they call it ‘The Flu’)

* * *

 

 **xii.**  
Chocolate, Rosa said, goes straight to the hips  
But it tastes best, Michael added, off Alex’s lips.

(Terran chocolate is a thing of bright glee  
The colour of mud but bitter and sweet-ee  
Most unexpected but take good care  
For tooth erosion is possible through sugar-wear)

* * *

 

 **xiii.**  
Alexander the Giant Slayer, the tale never told  
Brandishing a crutch and an attitude bold  
He slew the great monster that hurt his true love  
He smote down the demon with a blow from above  
He banished the creature to a distance realm called Niger  
And burned all its learnings with kindle and lighter

Alexander the Saviour, the bravest of men  
Survived a crash landing - and then did it again  
When fighting the creature known as ‘Alligator’  
Its huge thumping tail leaving a crater  
Of villages damaged beyond all repair  
When Alexander appeared, handsome and fair  
With a flex of his arm and a nod of his might  
He challenged the beast to a bare-fisted fight  
It bit off his leg (though he never will tell  
The gator’s three toes he bit off as well)  
And wounded him deep  
But he smashed it and bashed it into eternal sleep  
He held it by the tail and flicked it away  
Once again, Alexander saved the day.

A hero so mighty is never so humble  
Pray, look, even now he is starting to mumble  
And slide down his chair his cheeks all aflame  
For a hero wants nobody to praise his name  
But praise him we must, for mighty is he  
And so lucky we are, for so humble, he be.

* * *

  **xiv.**  
Blossom falls is always should  
In the delicate narrow paths of the wood  
It brushes my skin like the touch of a lover  
Though often I wish that touch came from another

 

Note from the author: _  
_Upon request from Alexander, the General’s Love  
and Mighty Hero, Slayer of the Fearsome Hamster,  
the Giant and Wrestler of Alligators,  
Human Ambassador and Respected Warrior  
in two realms across the galaxy,  
this collection is no longer to be completed. _ _

_ _~~He touched my shoulder and said please.~~ _ _


	3. The Rules of Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Michael had known that blurting out a proposal to Alex over breakfast (just so that he could get one over on Max and be the first to ask his human to marry him) would have resulted in the need to plan an official fucking Antaran wedding he would have just eloped with Alex back to Earth and got married by Elvis in Vegas. But he didn’t know that, and now he’s stuck listening to someone with lines on their face displaying their age like the rings of a tree, talking about tradition and matrimony and the Very Important ceremonial requirements.

If Michael had known that blurting out a proposal to Alex over breakfast (just so that he could get one over on Max and be the first to ask his human to marry him) would have resulted in the need to plan an official fucking Antaran wedding he would have just eloped with Alex back to Earth and got married by Elvis in Vegas. But he didn’t know that, and now he’s stuck listening to someone with lines on their face displaying their age like the rings of a tree, talking about tradition and matrimony and the Very Important ceremonial requirements.

He’d zoned out ten minutes ago until something utterly unacceptable filtered in through the edges of his conscience and he blinks himself back to the present to look at the wizened old man with a slight scowl. Beside him, Isobel looks positively gleeful so he _knows_ what he thinks he heard is probably accurate.

“Is there a problem, General?” The man asks. Michael thinks his eyebrows need a trim. They’re huge and fluffy, like anorexic baby bird wings above his eyes. Michael’s single errant curl drives him mad half the time when it bounces over his right eye, brushing against his forehead. He’s pretty sure this guy’s eyebrow feathering touches his cheeks.

“Did you say _three weeks_?”

He has to check, after all, three weeks is a really long time. The longest time since they pulled their shit together and decided that they wanted to be not-apart anymore. 

“Um, yes,” the man says with a nod. “According to our oldest traditions, when a member of our Royalty is to wed-”

“I’m not royalty.”

“Beg your pardon, General, but you are. By birth you are half but by bond you are full.”

Michael chances a glance over at Max - who appears relieved that he hadn’t yet thrown up a proposal to Liz and is clearly considering taking his plans down a notch or eleven - and Isobel - who looks like she’s barely containing her delight at this series of events. He rubs his hand over his face.

The speaker takes that as a sign to continue. 

“As I was saying, when a member of Royalty has decided to wed, especially in instances where a match has not been provided for them, we require a separation period of three weeks to allow for the Royal to seriously consider the implications of their choice and give them time to cha-”

Michael points a finger at the speaker. “If you say _change their mind_ I’m walking out. I’m not gonna change my mind, I’ve known that I loved Alex since I was seventeen.”

“You did call him a crash landing,” the speaker points out and Michael’s expression twists into something exceptionally unhappy. “There was a period between seventeen and twenty-seven where you were not together, and a further period where you were with another.” Michael groans and the lighting shook overhead.

Isobel’s eyes narrow and the speaker glances up at her, stumbling over his words a little. 

“We just- want to make sure that you- that it’s the right-”

“It’s definitely the right thing so we don’t need this bullshit separation policy.”

Michael’s expression is dark and unhappy and Isobel gets to her feet, walking over to the speaker and putting her hand on his shoulder. Michael leans over to Max as the two of them watch him pale, eyebrows wibbling a little in terrified anticipation. Max slides his body to the side, head canted in Michael’s direction.

“How the fuck do they know all that?” Michael asks and Max lifts his shoulder. They both know Alex wouldn’t have said a word about it; much like Michael he has a tendency to gloss over their pre-Antar II times. 

“Maybe you should ask?” Max points out and Michael lifts his eyes. He really fucking want to, but at the same time, whatever Isobel’s said to the wizened old man has made him start sweating in his heavy clothes and Michael wonders if now’s really a good time (see? He can exhibit personal growth as much as the next person).

Michael opens his mouth to do just that because fuck it if he wants to know something he’s allowed to. He is, after all, technically a member of the royal family. The question dies on his lips though because they scholar’s scurrying away and Isobel’s turning back to look at her brothers with an expression that absolutely says _why do I have to do everything myself?_ and _you idiots are lucky that I love you_. 

“He knows all of that because it was downloaded when you and Alex submitted for entry,” she says, hoisting up the skirt of her dress and walking up the three steps to the chair she’d claimed as hers (which technically should have been Max’s, but no one was about to tell her otherwise). “When they tested your intentions - well, Alex’s, really, because at that point he wasn’t every single person’s favourite… Don’t you remember? There was someone who called herself a Scanner and she just sort of leafed through your mind?”

Michael vaguely remembers the feeling of fingers in his brain, leafing through his memories like pages of a book but honestly, so much of that first day was a blur; he’d been wrapped up in the excitement of finding a home, having a place to belong that wasn’t the crappy planet he’d grown up on, the utter thrill of having _Alex_ beside him. The two of them starting this adventure together, in a way they’d always wanted to be but had never apparently been all that ready for.

He huffs out a breath and slumps back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him.

“I guess,” he starts, “you couldn’t get him to budge on the three-weeks-to-change-my-mind thing?”

Isobel looks at him, her cherubic face the perfect picture of innocence even as she says, “I didn’t even ask.”

Michael could murder her. He loves her, but sometimes, he thinks he could murder her.

***

The first thing he does is assign a guard to Alex. Nas[[1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191334/chapters/47612548#note1)] \- who had been part of Alex’s original contingent before it had been disbanded - couldn’t work out if he was happy or extremely anxious to be responsible for the Most Beloved Human™ on Antar. He knows it’s a position of great responsibility and honour, considering Alex is the General’s human (or, probably more accurately, Michael is the human’s General, considering everyone on Antar can see just how much Michael adored Alex). That also meant that his head would be exploded if he failed.

 _Not a scratch,_ Michael had said in all seriousness. _Not a hair out of place._

Nas had just nodded, accepting the seriousness of the request and wondering if the General knew - as they all did - that they were aware he had no intention of respecting the three-week separation rule. 

Of course, when he taps on the door to Alex’s chambers that particular morning and finds that it swings open with a creak to reveal an empty room, the panic sets in immediately.

He’s lost the General’s Alex.

***

Isobel stands in the great hall and sighs heavily, wondering if things had been different and she’d been engaged to Noah here, if there would have been such a fuss made over her impending nuptials. She tells herself there would have been more of a fuss, a much bigger party to plan because she’s the King’s sister, second in line to the throne (even if they all knew that she was really the one that did the ruling, Max was a very handsome and well-meaning figurehead).

She’s been making plans for Michael’s wedding, while he’s been busy doing things to take his mind off the fact that today is day one of his three week separation from Alex. She’s arranged the caterers and the ceremony, talked the Speakers out of forcing Michael and Alex to do a choreographed intimacy and fertility dance seeing as both of them were men and lacked the reproductive organs for childbirth. She’s started talking about decorations and the final thing on her list brings her to the conversation she’s just finishing. 

“It’ll be okay,” she tells the young-looking blonde. His eyes are huge, one green, one blue with a splash of brown and the eager boyishness of his face makes the grin that spreads over it when Isobel’s hand squeezes. His hair’s a touch too long but it’s swept back in a small, paintbrush-like ponytail, wisps hanging across his face in lazy ringlets indicating that, if he were to loosen the tie, the rest of his hair might follow suit and halo around his head in soft, pale curls. It contrasts starkly with the tone of his skin, sunkissed like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes basking in the rays of the suns that orbit Antar II. “They’ll both love it.”

“Do you think so?” he asks almost shyly, clutching his papers close to his chest. Many prefer to use the technologies available to them, but he prefers paper and pen. Dipping ink and letting his mind flow freely onto the page doesn’t have the same impact when he’s forced to use technology. 

“Of course,” Isobel reassures, her lips curled up into a smile as she pats his shoulder again. “You’ve got a lot of work to do. You’d better get going.”

He nods, eager and pleased, and hurries away to the east exit, nearly barrelling into Michael as he does. He stammers out an apology, ducks his head and leaves the hall but doesn’t quite get far enough that his delighted cry of _YES!_ and the muffled _thwip_ as he landed on the floor after jumping didn’t reach Isobel’s ears.

Michael turns and looks back at the door, then at Isobel. “What was he doing here?” he asks, “You know I really don’t like that guy.”

Isobel’s expression is impish. Michael hates that look.

“You’d better start trying to,” she says, her eyes literally twinkling. “He’s writing the ballad for your wedding.”

***

There had been two classes on humanity at the school Nas had attended. Although calling it a ‘school’ was probably generous; the remnants of Antar’s population that had fled and _not_ crash-landed on a planet they had been seeding for millennia had rebuilt this place from the scraps of their civilisation. Schools still hadn’t been built, seventy cycles later[[2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191334/chapters/47612548#note2)]. None of the content of those classes had prepared him for handling the sheer and utter panic that gripped him when he tapped on the door to Alexander’s chambers to find that it swung open without resistance and that Alexander _was missing_.

In fact, none of those classes prepared him at all for the way his stress levels climb repeatedly over the course of the next three days when, no matter how hard he tries, Alex continually manages to evade him. That first instance of having lost Alex was - thankfully - not at all sinister; Alex had needed coffee and had just wandered down to the kitchens in search of the Antarian equivalent (which tasted worse but had a more immediate, long-lasting effect on human physiology, according to the General). 

He doesn’t think the human understands in the slightest just how important his safety is to the Antarians (though it isn’t until Nas watches Alex take down an intruder in a heartbeat, hardly breaking a sweat - or his stride - that he truly understands why half the population is borderline in love with the human), and though he understands that Alex can take care of himself, it’s his duty to watch over Alex and make sure he’s safe. At all times. Whether Alex wants him to or not.

So when he asks the human - politely - to stop disappearing and getting himself into various amounts of vaguely human-threatening situations and the response is a simple, straight “No”, he’s understandably confused.

“No?”

“No.”

“You can’t say no, Lord Alexander, it-”

“Alex.”

“ _Alex_. You can’t say no, I’m your guard, responsible for your safety. The General would-”

“The General knows I don’t like the idea of someone putting their life on the line for me when I’m more than capable of taking care of myself in the unlikely event that something should happen and some idiot gets it into their head that they can invade your planet when you’ve got a whole army, a King that can literally electrocute you, a Queen that can melt brains and a General that can throw an armoured vehicle with his mind.”

Nas has to concede that the human makes a very good point.

Still, orders are orders.

Alex takes advantage of him taking a moment to think about a good riposte to his argument to disappear again.

***

“Three weeks?”

“That’s what they said.” Michael looks just about as miserable as he’s ever been and honestly, Alex thinks that he might be being a bit overdramatic. They’ve suffered through worse separations. Being apart for three weeks is hardly the worst thing to have ever happened to them. “I’m supposed to not see you for three weeks to give me a chance to change my mind.”

Alex snorts. “Is that what this is? So you can change your mind?” 

Michael lifts his eyebrow and Alex lets him in through the window[[3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191334/chapters/47612548#note3)]. What follows is a moment that would remain embedded in the rolodex of Alex’s mind for the rest of his life. As Michael balances himself in the room, the look of relief that was on his face melts in an instant as he sees the flowers and gifts that are lining the far edge of Alex’s chambers. They’re neatly stacked and all signed but not a single one of them has been opened.

“I’m sending them back in the morning,” Alex says, in a tone that he hopes is reassuring to Michael though, from the way the General’s eyes narrow and darken and the room shakes ominously he thinks that it probably isn’t working. “I’m not about to accept any proposals.”

“Damn right you’re not,” Michael growls and he turns on Alex, crowding him up against the nearest wall and ducking his head to kiss along the curve of his fiance’s jaw and down his throat. 

“Don’t you dare leave a mark,” Alex warns, fingers fisting in Michael’s hair even as he feels Michael biting at his skin. “I’ve got a meeting with the Consulate in the morning and- ah-” 

His protests die down relatively quickly, even if Michael gets kicked out in the very early hours of the morning so Alex can try and find some semblance of his dignity before the meeting.

The gifts, also, go back to their senders, along with a very strongly worded warning from the General himself that Alex is Not Available for Courtship.

***

Many people looked down on him for preferring to write by hand when they had the technology for him to record his works digitally, to create words that flowed like water through a forest with little effort. Many of the poets on Antar II - the ones that lived outside the main citadel anyway - use the technology to cheat and though he’d never say it aloud, he definitely feels that their work is… derivative. He, however, is an Original. The King had said so, though it was possible he’d been being sarcastic. Isobel, however, the formidable woman who wore the shape of their beloved Vilandra, had made him the Court Poet and allowed him to write the verses for Lord Alexander and the General’s wedding.

He’s excited, and that excitement carries him through the grief that comes with the knowledge that in three - or maybe four - short weeks, Lord Alexander will be married. He heard Rosa - the sister of the King’s beloved Elizabeth - call them ‘Malex’ once and it sounded poetic. A mixture of ‘Michael’ and ‘Alex’, he had thought but Rosa had smiled at him and told him that it was an Earth custom; that upon completion of the marriage ceremony, they took on a whole new surname.

With this knowledge, Baxu pushes his curls out of his face and gets to work.

To The Happy Couple: An Ode to Malex

Love is everlasting and bright in the face of adversity  
And theirs is a tale of trial and serendipity  
Of love across space that last through times hard  
Splintered souls coming together shard by shard

The path of true love did never run smooth  
The course doth wind and twist  
Foes they faced were most uncouth  
But their challenges disappeared into mist…

Yes, he thinks, this is a good start.

After all, Lord Alexander - _call me Alex, Baxu, please_ \- is his muse and it would be a very poor show to do him wrong. And under starlight and moonlight he throws himself back into the wonders of his muse, thinking about the way he smiles whenever he looks at Michael when he thinks no one’s looking and how Michael - High General Rath - would destroy the galaxy in a heartbeat. 

He only wishes that one day, he can have a love so epic of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Nas, whose full name has approximately nineteen letters in it many of which should not be next to each other, was part of the platoon that greeted the Envoy when he returned to Antar II with the Royal Trio. Michael immediately took a shine to him after seeing his facial expression slip twice into something that looked like boredom and the tiniest bit of insubordination, as well as the way that he stepped behind Alex without hesitation when he realised that Alex was human. When he was introduced - or rather when he introduced himself - his given name rolled off his tongue so easily that Max (in his infinite wisdom) tried and failed three times to pronounce it, much to Isobel’s delight. He bestowed Nas with the nickname he still uses - proudly - to this day. Only his mother now uses his full name, despite him asking her to use his Given Name. [return to text]
> 
> [2]It’s worth noting that there are schools now. Much of the Antaran refugee effort had gone into getting a stable society without their Royals, building their civilisation from the ground up and mining the planet for materials to build with and getting one of their ships fitted with navigation that would allow it to track down the planet that their missing ships had crashed on to rescue their survivors. It never crossed their minds that there wouldn’t be survivors, or that the planet could be hostile. In fact, when they found out that the ship had landed on _Earth_ (so creatively named, they would chortle, and then cough their disdain after Isobel’s eyes cut to them and she points out that they called this planet Antar II so they could hardly talk) they worried even less. [return to text]
> 
> [3]Michael had, in fact, climbed up the glowing purple and blue trellis that scaled the wall underneath Alex’s window to avoid looking like he was already breaking the traditions of his people less than a full day after finding out the Rules of Engagement. No one could ever accuse him of not thinking things through because he’d _thought_ that he’d changed the guard route so that no one would see him. That’s absolutely not what happened; what happened was that Ixay and Iotath spotted him halfway up the trellis and paused, heads tilted to the side in curious concern and despite Michael’s attempts to wave them off saying ‘everything is fine, go about your business, I just got locked out of my room’, their response of ‘but that is Lord Alexander’s chamber and you can’t see him, since you just proposed’ had meant that the thirty minutes it had taken him to climb up the trellis was initially a waste of time. He’d spent ten minutes forlornly talking about guard routes before they were heading on their way and Michael could try again.
> 
> By the time he managed to get to the balcony and then crouch there, waiting for the patrol to pass (again), Alex had not only cottoned onto what he wanted to do but had been laughing and refused to open the window just so that Michael would get caught, at least until he managed to say with no degree of frustration that they _need to talk because I have to avoid you for three weeks_.[return to text]


	4. Nas' No Good, Very Bad, Terrible, Horrible Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baxu is _still_ a terrible poet.
> 
> Thankfully, he loves Alex so much he can be forgiven for almost anything. This is a tie-in to the previous chapter, where we were introduced to Nas, the most stressed-out guard on all of Antar II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know. Blame InsidiousIntent and Beamirang. :D

_Translated from native Antarian by the Poet Baxu_  
Dedicated to Nas, the fierce and the true  
And to Lord Alexander (for I can't forget you)

* * *

Human Pastimes Are Strange

Lord Alex, he wanted to “jump off the base”  
For, and I quote, he was “going mad in this place”.  
To the cliffs he did walk, it was not that hard  
(Try telling that to the captain of his guard).

With fabric strapped to broad shoulders and back  
Hugging him so close I was jealous of that sack,  
He stood with the wind brushing through his dark hair  
And surveyed the horizon with his thousand-yard stare...

Poor Nas was confused and worried a lot  
Because it’s an awfully difficult job that he’s got  
When he found on that one fine day  
That, once again, Lord Alex was astray  
His blood pressure did nearly pop  
And the bottom of his stomach did drop  


He ran to the cliff with Kyle right behind  
Just to see our Lord Alex jump over the line  
(That had been installed for safety you see  
For the youth of Antar is cursed by stupidity)

They huffed and they puffed and Nas stood in dismay  
As Alex fell faster down and further away  
He cried out in anguish, in fear and in grief  
Then his armour he stripped to reveal the clothes beneath

"The fuck are you doing?" Valenti did ask  
"Going down after him," Nas said, his stoic mask  
broken in fear for what his punishment would be  
From the general (whose safety Alex had been entrusted by, you see)  
"For better to die on terms of my own  
That for my punishment to be dictated by those on the throne"

Kyle rolled those dark eyes set in his nice face  
(though compared to Lord Alex he takes second place)  
And pointed down yonder  
And Nas, in relief, cried out in wonder  
For such bright coloured cloth 'sploded from the pack  
That was pressed close and tight against Alex's (nice) back

He floated and twisted as though he could fly,  
Carried on the wind was his triumphant cry  
For Alex, you see, is the Most Brave  
But he gave Nas a scare that was pretty grave

Kyle and Nas both rushed down to the shore  
Where Alex had landed in all of his glory  
Bright-eyed and flushed with hair in disarray  
Alex, more beautiful than the most gorgeous day,  
Stood soaking wet and his clothes clung to skin  
(Not really that healthy for him to hang 'round in)

For humans get cold quite quickly, it's true  
And nobody wants Alex's lips to turn blue

The stripping, of course, I did not get to see  
Though I imagine 'twas as glorious as could be  
Alex's supple skin and sublime would have glowed in the sun  
And to touch him would be wonderous but the general is no fun  
He threatened to turf Nas off of the roof  
And me, of my queries, he did disapprove  
And told me to leave lest I lose my head  
He did not appreciate what Isobel had said:  
I had access to all areas as part of my role  
To chronicle their lives, both apart and whole.

He quite literally put his boot on my ass  
And threw me outside with quite little class  
But through the door I could hear him cry  
"what are you doing? do you want to die?"

And Alex, so patient and honest and true  
replied "do I look suicidal to you?  
I'm bored and want something to fill up my time"  
(well he didn't, but a good poem must rhyme)

And this is but one tale of how Alex can find  
Any day, to drive Nas quite out of his mind  
For humans are slippery and rambunctious it seems  
Even the ones that look like they've stepped out of your dreams.

* * *

An Ode to Alex

Alex is the most brave, this should be no surprise  
For Alex has looked Death right in the eyes  
And said 'not today, me you will not take,  
the fate of the universe is at stake'.

Death was as taken with Alex as I  
And with a smile and a nod did let Alex pass by  
No end was in sight for Alex that day  
From Michael Death cannot keep him away

Though Michael was ready to level the place  
Grief wracking his form and scrawled on his face  
Until Alex did move and like a sunrise  
Life re-entered his body and into his eyes

He groaned and he sighed and rolled onto his side  
And "fuck" he did say, "that was quite a ride"  
Michael did drop down onto his knees  
And he cradled his lover and begged him "please,  
don't scare me like that, I could not survive  
if from another war you did not come back alive"

And Alex just smiled and heroically cried  
"who'll stop you from stupid actions if I died?"  
And Michael did laugh but the sound was quite wet  
And the most crushing of hugs did Alex then get

His shirt was quite torn and his scars on display  
But nobody cared a whit on that day  
For we were all pleased that Lord Alex did live  
That a parade in his honour, our Lady did give.


End file.
